


Family

by Miss_Choco_chips



Series: Janet Drake is a good mom au [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Janet Drake is a good mom, F/F, F/M, Gen, Jack is still a bad dad but he's not around for long, Janet Drake is a Good Mom, Janet is a bear mother, M/M, She'll kill for her child, Tim Drake gets all the love, Tim Drake-centric, shorts and snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:20:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Choco_chips/pseuds/Miss_Choco_chips
Summary: Shorts and snippets of Tim Drake's life as his mother's beloved son.Or- Tim grows surrounded by so much love and care, like he deserves.
Relationships: Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Janet Drake/Jack Drake, Janet Drake/Original Female Character, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: Janet Drake is a good mom au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116791
Comments: 14
Kudos: 144





	1. Tim does a thing

Janet was of the firm belief that her son was the smartest person in any room, at any given moment.

"What", she intoned, calmly, taking a deep sip of her valeriana tea before continuing, "the fuck."

Except in situations like this.

"I panicked", he whined, face down on the couch. Behind him, the tv on the wall reported the news of young Timothy Drake as the new owner of Wayne Enterprises.

Janet sipped her tea.

‘ _This is your son_ ’, she reminds herself, feeling the cocottion forcing her muscles to relax. ‘ _You love him more than anything. You do. Focus on that feeling_ ’

This was Jack’s fault. Him and his sentimentalism. Fond as she was of her late husband, she needed someone to blame for all and any of Tim’s shortcomings, and emotional weakness was a genetic passed trait as long as she was concerned. 

Or so she liked to believe.

"Why did you think it’d be a good idea to buy WE?", she asked, letting the empty cup clink when she deposited it back on the little plater.

"I mean…" he trailed, obviously conflicted. "You know as well as I do that the man acting as Bruce Wayne right now is some kind of actor, or double."

"I do", a nod, as she's patiently waiting for him to explain his reasoning. 

Here, she could be patient. Whatever Luthor or Nicole said.

"Well, he’s… he’s gonna end up ruining the whole thing. And then not only the real Bruce Wayne’s legacy will be destroyed, but also, just how many people will be put out of work? how many families depend on WE’s job slots?"

There it was, the two things she’d never understand about her son: His honest worry about strangers, and his honest worry about the Waynes.

She sighed, and let her head tilt to the side as she examined the TV. On it, someone had placed a photo of her sixteen year old son looking as soft and… baby-faced as he ever got. Icy blue eyes opened wide, as he hugged a bunny to his chest, long black hair framing his rosy cheeks- she nodded, satisfied. She and all news channels had an agreement of sorts: they never showed a picture where her son looked anything else but like a baby, and she never sued them. This one was probably taken during last year’s charity event, where the Drakes had taken a group of children to the Zoo. The snotty nosed brats had loved Timothy, and he in turn had absorbed the adoration like a sponge.

He was so good. It was disquieting, to think he had came from her. 

She had done her very best, to protect him from being sullied by the world’s ugliest faces. Like politics, and business. Letting him help, learn, but from the safety of her own back. And now he was in charge of the piranna’s tank that was WE.

She sighs, hand going to the bridge of her nose.

"And instead of trying to become a board member, you bought the entire thing."

"I could never make the Board, Mom, come on. I’m  _ sixteen _ . Buying the company, on the other hand, I can do through DI channels, and as long as I have money, age is of little consequence."

He moved his head so it was resting sideways in the cushion, sad cow eyes going to hers. She scowled, reigning in the knee jerk reaction of going above and beyond to protect her kid. He needed to learn, sooner or later. Luthor himself said it, she couldn’t baby him forever. 

"No. You got yourself into this, you are getting out. I already helped that time with the mob. It’s time you learn."

  
  


\----.----

A week and a half later finds Janet mimicking her son’s position, face down in a couch. Instead in her case, it’s because Nicole’s favorite masseuse is working the knots off her back.

"I just can’t believe it. I. I can’t. He’s so smart, how can he be so dumb?"

Sitting by her head, nails carefully scratching at her scalp, her best friend humms.

"You gotta admit, you essentially gave him permission to do as he liked."

"I thought he’d be doing the sane thing, like re-selling the company back to the Waynes, maybe putting a legal safeward of some sorts to keep the situation from repeating, or maybe even putting the man’s sons in charge.  _ Not that he’d go looking for Bruce Wayne himself!" _

"You shouldn’t assume things, Jan."

"Shut up. Any news from Luthor’s contacts?"

Nicole typed at the phone balanced on her knees, her other hand keeping her reassuring touches on Janet’s head.

"Hmmm. Your son is exceedingly good at evading his men. No one has seen him in… oh. Oh crap."

That tone makes Janet sit straight, clutching the towel she was laying over to her chest and sending the masseuse away with a wave. Once they are alone, she faces Nicole, serious and with the barest hint of anxiety of a worried mother in the background of her eyes.

"What is it?"

"Well… I know where he is."

"And how is that bad?"

"Because so does my father. He has his little shadows tailing after him."

Janet really needed to work on a better word than ‘fuck’.

  
  


\----.----

  
  


Four months later, her son came back. His hair was longer, he had a slight tan, and was two inches taller.

He was also missing his spleen.

She was going to kill both Bruce Wayne, and Ra’s Al Ghul. The first one because it was his fault Timothy had gotten involved in League of Assassins’ business. The second...

"I don’t like it", she mutters between clenched teeth, watching from Nicole’s side as Ra’s Al Ghul and her son walk around the gardens of Drake Manor.

"Dad is surprisingly interested in Timmy", agrees the other woman, tapping at the glass of the window with her blood-red fingernail. "It can’t be good."

She growls as the man carefully places a hand in her sixteen year old son's back to direct him towards a particularly well bloomed rose bush. "I want a restraining order."

Nicole looks at her from the corner of her eye. "Darling, I don’t think you can get it to stick. My Dad is… kinda above the law."

"I’m sure I can make it. I have something he doesn’t."

"What?"

"You. I know you can’t resist a chance at ruffling his feathers, and Tim is your favorite. Also…"

"Also?"

Janet smiled, sharp and cutting and something sweet underneath, like poison that tastes good but kills you in a second. She raised a hand, nail softly tracing the edge of Nicole’s cheekbone. "You love me too much to say no to me, sweetie."

The other woman sighed, and smiled defeatedly.

"I’ll draft the paperwork."


	2. Orphans, brother and influences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janet Drake…  
> ...and the Orphans. She doesn’t care for them. Except when Timothy does, because then it’s a problem™. 
> 
> -.-.-.
> 
> The journey from Vodka Aunt to Wine Mom starts with Scottish coffee.
> 
> Or, Nicole totally thought this through, shut up Janet.
> 
> -.-.-.
> 
> Good influence, bad influence.  
> Tim is one of those, and he gets the other one. Guess which is which. Ft a murder kitten, two oblivious birds, a divorce-preventing baby and a murderous mother.

**Orphans**

The days following the circus tragedy found Janet constantly wearing a curious accessory. And by that, she means Tim was hanging on to her at all times like a stubbornly stuck belt or backpack, depending on whether he was clinging to her waist or shoulders.

It was a little suffocating at times, but to be honest, the cercany helped her frayed nerves as well as his growing separation anxiety. Because Jack had left, and she was still steaming over the fact.

Her husband, back home for the week, had left for the next dig site earlier than expected, scared away by Timothy’s nightmares and cries. As if it were weird for a four year old to be scared out of his mind by witnessing another little kid’s parents die in front of him. As if it was a minor inconvenience and awkward situation, instead of future therapy material for their kid.

_‘Coward’_ , she thought, full of spite, hand carefully brushing Tim’s hair away from his forehead as he slept with his head in her lap, watching from the couch as Jack trudged down the stairs with his travel suitcase at the ready. 

She wouldn’t ask him to stay, though. Timothy deserved parents willing to stay by their own volition, no some half witted irresponsible man-child who couldn’t deal with a little emotional trauma. 

Like, Janet herself wasn’t the _best_ at reassurance, but at least she was trying, dear god. That had to count more than Jack’s escape act.

But, useless husband aside, she was… worried. About her son.

Emotional trauma wasn’t something she could just intimidate into submission. Some desperate dream, like owning an island, she had the money to fulfil for him. Unknown attacker to eliminate? Sure, there were no lacking meatbags in the market for hire to...make someone else disappear. But dealing with stuff that included heart to hearts and love? Yeah, no. She always thought Jack would be the one dealing with that kind of thing, so she was wholly unprepared for it. It also wasn’t an issue she could just push into her friends; Both Nicole and Lex were equally as unexperienced (inept) in that area.

Though, they did offer some sound advice.

“ _Take Timothy to see the boy_ ”, suggested Luthor during their weekly business call (or, as Nicole called it, their bitchfest, where they despised together about the concerning lack of braincells flowing in the rest of the corporate world). “ _He’s probably worried sick about two things: your safety, and the kid’s who he saw become an orphan. Maybe seeing him well cared for by Wayne will be soothing enough for him to relax a little. Fuck if I know. Now, back at my story… You wouldn’t believe what that empty brained, graceless twit Oliver Queen said then._ ”

So Janet followed his advice, both about the visit to Wayne Manor and not making business with Queen.

After the first uncomfortable five minutes where Tim tried to stutter a condolence out, the kids had taken to one another like fishes to water. The adoration was clear in Tim’s eyes, shining through his nervousness, like that damn bat signal broke through the clouds to illuminate the city.

And Richard, Dick as he asked to be called, absolutely laped at it, doing flips and jumps, each one flashier than the one before, enticing claps from his captive audience of one. He laughed when Tim asked his usual hundred questions, undeterred by her son’s enthusiasm. There were tinges of the sadness and mourning on his eyes, but they were chased away by the four year old’s joy whenever he told a pun.

Sitting at one of the tea tables overseeing the garden where the kids played, Bruce and Janet interchanged looks.

"It was a good idea to bring Tim over, Janet", praised the man.

"Of course", she replied primly, choosing to not inform him it had been Luthor’s suggestion.

"Dick hasn’t laughed at all since he came here… maybe we can set more playdates for them?"

Timothy’s laughter in her ears, unburdened for the first time since that night, was all the motivation she needed to nod.

"Why take him in, though?" she asked after a few minutes of watching as Dick did a double flip, to Tim’s excitement.

"Dick… what he went through… it was like seeing myself, back then. I couldn’t just leave him alone."

A sigh, and a sip of tea. 

"Bruce. You can’t adopt _every_ single orphan you come across."

  
  


\-----.-----

A little over seven years later, Janet downed a glass of champagne in two long sips, watching from the side of the ballroom as Tim approached the newcomers to his birthday party: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, and his newest ward, Jason Todd.

"When I told him that, I didn’t mean it as a challenge."

"Hum?", asks Nicole, sharp green eyes on her godson, tilting her head a little to hear Janet better.

"Nothing. What are you looking at, that focused?"

The woman gave Luthor, who completed their little group (god, reminders of high school much?), a side look. He returned it.

"I’m going to get started into the spa gift card", he said, apropos of nothing, before walking away, whipping out his phone and typing like a madman.

"What was he on about?"

"Oh, nothing", mused Nicole, eyes still on Tim (who was, as always with the Waynes, a flustered mess, thanking them -and specially, their latest addition- for coming to his party). She took one of Janet’s hands in both of hers, finally looking away from the child to look at his mother. Nicole’s eyes were full of pity and amusement. "Be strong, Jan."

"What...?"

\----.-----

"...the fuck?"

"Shhh, darling, breath. I told you, didn’t I? Be strong."

"What. Just… no. No. I refuse", she gestured, as graceful and lady like as she could given the circumstances, "this." 

They were currently at Wayne Manor, celebrating with the Waynes the fourteenth birthday of the youngest of them. Tim, who had been very cagey and mysterious the last few months, had brought a potted flower. That, apparently, he grew himself, from a seed to the pretty little yellow sprout.

Alstroemeria, a beautiful flower which symbolises enduring friendship. Each of the flower's six petals represents the characteristics of understanding, humour, patience, empathy, commitment and respect.

That was the flower Timothy choose to gift Jason Todd, explaining as he did how he cared for the flower for weeks, telling it stories about Jason and asking it to give him good luck. Something about plants being magical, able to give off special vibes, and how he ‘trained’ it to do the same for Jason. 

It was adorable, and judging from the brat’s furious blush, he agreed. He took the hand-painted pot with utmost care.

It was revolting. She wanted to claw his eyes out, if only to get him to stop looking at her son like that.

Stop him from looking at her son, period.

"Shh", continued to soothe Nicole, quick hand slipping a card into Janet’s purse. "There, an all day, full treatment, already paid for spa gift card, from me and Luthor. You’re going to need it. Timmy is eleven after all, hormones are bound to start kicking anytime soon."

She wanted to scream, especially when Richard, apparently tendered after Tim’s heartfelt gift to Jason, picked him up and started to spin him around the ballroom. Her son’s already rosy cheeks went full red.

"Damned Wayne and his godforsaken orphans. I swear to God I’m gonna sue him if he dares adopt another one."

Nicole, on her part, winced a little inwardly. Perhaps this wasn’t the right moment to tell Janet about her sister Talia’s spawn with Wayne. 

**Brother**

Nicole had believed -she had believed it would be… not easy, but _easier_ than it had been, for Janet. She had been blindsided, after all, and completely out of her depth. Nicole, as she was now, had a good amount of practice under her belt- almost thirteen years of it. She shouldn’t be as clumsy about this as Jan had been, those first few weeks of Tim’s life.

In any other world, she would have been indifferent to the wounds, the verbal abuse, the disdain and blatant use of an innocent and manipulable mind. But here, now, she had been an aunt- a _godmother_ , for almost thirteen years. Maybe it was Timmy’s kindness, absorbed into her bones via osmosis, maybe it was the maternal instinct Janet sometimes complained took over her life at irregular intervals to make her a better mother, maybe it was because he reminded her so much of her godson… but she just couldn’t stand it.

So she gathered her resources, called in a couple favors, took the child and disappeared into the night. That part was easy; Talia might be stronger, physically speaking, but Nicole’s mind could moon-walk circles around hers all day long.

But, what now? Back in Gotham as per her plan, where Talia couldn’t just waltz in and do as she wished without an angry bat breathing down her neck, but totally fucking lost as to what her next steps should be.

So she goes to Janet. If years of friendship aren’t enough to get her to help, she could always remind her of how it was thanks to Nicole’s contacts that she got Shiva as Tim’s self-defense teacher.

The bitch owes her.

  
  


\----.----

  
  


Tim isn’t worried, exactly, when aunt Nicole power-walks into the tea room where mother and son are having breakfast -much more cozy than the dining room- and smiles tersely, asking if she could have a word with Janet. 

He is, though, when she asks him to leave the room. Because never before has Nicole cared that Tim heard what she talked with mom, be it a complain about some mutual acquaintance or some confidential information from one of her cases.

He leaves, of course, because he respects her enough, but sends one not-actually-scared -but-close-enough look at his mother on the way out.

The second the door is closed, he can hear Nicole blurting something out, and the deafening sound of a teacup crashing into the floor. He rushes his steps, stopping by his room to grab his camera before going outside. He doesn’t want to be there for the fall out, if mom’s initial reaction was to _lose her grip_ on her cup. Maybe he should call uncle Lex, get a little vacation outside the city (and line of fire).

He’s entertaining the thoughts of asking for a lift via Lex Corp special jet towards Paris vs Japan, when he sees the kid sitting under his favorite tree.

He approaches, curious and tentative, and the kid looks up to him when he gets within arm distance (doesn’t look surprised, like he knew Tim was there all along). The moment he sees him clearly, though, Tim _freezes_.

The shape of his eyes. The color of his hair. The ears, the contorn of the face, the scowl. His skin might be tanner, and his irises a different tint, but he looks at the kid for less than a second and knows, without a doubt, that he’s looking at Bruce Wayne’s son. 

His heart might have stopped, but the mind is a wonderful thing that never stops working, and the next order of business is figuring out who the mother is. He remembers Nicole’s tight face, her venomous green eyes almost equal to this kid’s, and… Yeah, okay, so this is also Talia Al Ghul’s spawn. What the hell was Bruce thinking? Does Dick know? Does _Bruce_ know?

"Stop looking at me like a buffon, or I’ll have your eyes removed", speaks up the kid, and Tim’s mind reminds him that, yeah, he isn’t looking at a picture, but a real, breathing human being. A six-or-seven year old being, despite his speech.

Manners kicking to the forefront of his head, he crouches down in front of the kid, camera dangling from his neck, all but forgotten by its owner for maybe the first time ever.

"Hey there. My name is Timothy Drake", he smiles, hand offered with kindness, but eyes sharp as he keeps on inspecting the face in front of his. That, and his name, seems to immediately change the kid’s opinion of him, because his eyes widen and he’s quick to return the greeting.

Aunt Nicole must have said something to him about Tim and his special position as Janet Drake’s son, because when the kid shakes his hand (calloused, with more than one scar, probably more used at handling a weapon than Tim is going to be at the end of his life), he’s being almost comically careful about it, as if he’s unsure about how much to squeeze or shake without hurting him. Nicole probably stressed into him about Tim being delicate and how he should handle him with care, which, bullshit, he’s not a baby anymore, not like this kid.

"I see. I’ve heard about you a lot from Aunt during my travels here. My name is Ibn al Xu’ffasch."

Tim blinks twice, smile firmly in place, hand holding lightly into the kid’s. There’s something ridiculous about Bruce’s kid literally being called ‘Son of the bat’.

"...my other name is Damian, Damian Al Ghul."

"I see. Which one do you prefer?"

This seems to baffle the kid, though he recovers quickly. Has anyone ever asked him for his preference on something as personal as his name?

"You may address me as Damian."

"Okay then, Damian. I was going to go around the property for a walk, take some picture of animals. Why don’t you come with me? You can also tell me a little about yourself. With Nicole as your Aunt, we are sure to meet often."

  
  


\----.----

  
  


"So you just… took the kid and ran."

"No, I had a well thought plan. And I didn’t ran. That’s _undignified_."

"Really, now."

"I couldn’t just leave him, Jan. He’s six."

"He’s a genetically engineered baby trained since birth by your psychotic sister in how to be a perfect killing machine. Excuse me if I think he can handle himself. But whatever, what’s done is done. What are you going to do now?"

"I… I kinda hoped you’d tell me."

"...I’ll tell the butler to prepare refreshments. This is going to be a long talk."

"Vodka?"

"It’s nine in the morning, you unclassy fool. We are having Scottish coffee. Besides, you acquired a child, you can’t be the vodka aunt any longer. If anything, be the wine mom."

"No, I’m not adopting this kid. Rip to Bruce, but I’m not like him."

"Well, I’m not doing it for you either."

"I’m not asking that! I plan on giving him to his dad to look after, but he’s too…"

"Murderous?"

"...yeah, that. I’m going to try to ease him into normal society as much as I can before calling Wayne, to prevent a full blown out culture shock."

"This is Gotham, dear. You want normal society, go to Metropolis. But sure, I’ll help you with this. You might have to move into the Manor for a few weeks, though. Also, you are lucky Tim is on break right now, his innate kindness might help in this. But if your demonic nephew touches a single hair in Tim’s head, I’m throwing him to the sharks."

"Are you talking about reporters, the League of Assassins, or actual sharks?"

_"Yes_."

  
  


\----.----

  
  


Tim snaps a quick pic when the kid isn’t looking, because this is _precious_. 

Damian had been a proud little prick at first, refusing to show the interest shining in his eyes towards the multiple animals Tim introduced him to. But by the time they left behind the horse (the one Lex gave him on his tenth birthday), birds and fishes on the property’s pond, and moved into Tim’s pets, he had left his facade behind and did his best to pet every animal at the same time. He couldn’t, of course, didn’t have enough hands for all two cats, the dog and the bunny, but by god he tried. 

Sel, the female cat, had taken residence on the kid’s shoulders, lounging there like an Empress, judging them all from above (or as above as she could be, perched on such a small kid that was sitting down to boot). Her partner in crime and life, Alley, rubbed his head under Tim’s chin, comfortable in his human’s arms. 

Then, Max, his Golden Retriever dog. He was a sweetheart, and had charmed Damian in less than a minute, greeting him with enthusiastic licks at his hands and a furiously quick tail moving side to side. Damian had been blindsided by the utter cuteness of the dog immediately falling in love with him, and had responded in kind, dedicating almost half an hour to dote on him alone.

Now, almost two hours after meeting the kid, Tim couldn’t help but snap another picture of Damian, sitting on the ground in front of Tim, one hand petting Max who had laid by his side, the other one carefully stroking Butter the Bunny’s head while he rests on his lap. Sel occasionally nudges her head against his cheek to demand for attention, that he gladly provides, and everything seems out of a Disney movie.

He knows this kid is dangerous. Because he is Nicole’s relative, because his eyes are always scanning their surroundings for threats, because his hand is the hand of a warrior. 

But he looks up at Tim when Sel gives a tiny lick to his check, looking as if he’d been blessed by the Kitten Gods and needs guidance on the appropriate response, and Tim thinks he could overlook the danger. God knows everyone is afraid of Mom, and that doesn’t stop Tim from kissing her cheek and hugging her at least once per day. 

This kid deserves love, too, and he always wanted a sibling.

**Good Influence, Bad Influence.**

"Are you sure I can’t just stab her?"

"Really sure."

"How much?"

"Like, 100% sure."

"You told me once it’s impossible to ever/"

"...be 100% sure of something, I know. Which is how you know I mean it now."

Damian puffed his cheeks. Tim was sure that, in his mind’s eye, he looked dignifiedly annoyed. In reality, it was adorable. But since Damian currently held his right hand hostage, and was probably holding onto his dagger inside his pocket with the other one, he didn’t want to risk pointing it out. He just tugged him away, swimming through the masses, as Damian had called them upon entering the ballroom.

"But why not?"

It was as close to a whine a sound as the kid could make, which upped his adorable factor another notch. 

"You’d get blood on your suit, for one. And then, my mom would kill you."

A little shudder at the mention of Janet Drake, though the kid composed himself quickly. "I wouldn’t let a single drop fall on me, cousin. I’m not an _amateur_."

Since Damian would have used another, more offensive word not so long ago, Tim ignored the pointed look he got when he said ‘amateur’. Also, the use of modern slang was something he was painstakingly drilling into him, so he was quiet proud when it bore fruits.

"Also, you’d draw attention to ourselves. And that woman didn’t even do anything worthy of such a reaction."

"She dared touch me! Treated me like, like… like a kid!"

Pointing out that he, in fact, was one wouldn’t go well, so Tim’s mind offered an alternative route. 

"You don’t know?", he blurted out, feigning surprise. Damian looked up at him, eyes squinting suspiciously, and there, very well hidden (but not enough he didn’t notice) a little hesitancy.

"Know what?"

Tim let go of the little, calloused hand, and placed both of his on the slimmer shoulders, bending down a bit to be face to face with his charge for the night. The blond wig and round glasses weren’t enough to hide Damian’s almost aristocratic features, but they sure managed to misdirect someone about his bloodline. No one would be able to tell he was Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul’s son, which was kinda the idea.

It had been a chore, to put the disguise in the proud boy, but Tim had been the one to achieve it when he dressed it as a training exercise: they had to make it through the party without its host, Mr Wayne, recognizing him.

Easy peasy, or so he had told mother when he assured her she could go make business with aunt Nicole and leave them be. He hadn’t calculated… well, other people.

"About Mrs Stingdom’s homeland."

Damian was too dignified to look over his shoulder at the lady in question, but Tim could see he wanted to.

"She’s a gothamite", he pointed out, because as Tim had suggested, he did his homework about who was attending to the party. A bit, at least. The story of so many boring socialites was too much to bear.

"She _married_ a gothamite", he explained, doing his best to look stern about Damian’s apparent misinformation. "She’s actually from another land, which is why she pinched your checks. In her culture, it’s a sign of utmost respect towards people under ten years old who are still considered to be superiors, despite their age."

It sounded far fetched, even to his own ears, but he was playing into Damian’s social incompetency and his arrogance at believing himself above all others, which is why the kid nodded slowly after a few seconds, eating the whole lie in one bite.

His bespectacled eyes bore into his, brows furrowed. His hands went to Tim’s, still on his shoulders, a little unsure.

"Should I expect more of this… cultural difference? So I won’t be underprepared, should anyone else wish to pay me their respects in a new manner?"

Sensing a chance to prevent a future stabbing, Tim was quick to nod. Mom was going to be so proud!

\----.----

A little later that night, a new issue arose. Since Tim was pretty busy handling the seven year old, he had to forgo his usual Wayne-party routine, which was basically to find one of the sons and hide with them for the rest of the night.

Of course, neurotic bastards like them wouldn’t take a change in routine go like that. Because Bruce has instilled paranoia and curiosity on them like Alfred did with manners, and sadly, the last one’s teachings rarely showed up.

"Timmy! Here you are. I was worried, since you never approached us. Aww, who’s this kid? You made a friend?"

He groaned internally. Dick, and behind him he could spot Jason, eyebrow arched at the novelty of Tim not looking for them immediately. He _wanted_ to, thrived in the chance to spend even a few minutes with his idols, but duty calls, and his mind didn’t like the possibles outcomes would Damian and the Waynes meet.

"Hey, Dick… Jay. Good evening." He smiled politely, hand clutching tighter Damian’s. _Don’t notice, don’t notice, please don’t notice._

To his immense relief, none of them seemed to find anything noteworthy in Damian’s face, which… was also kinda disappointing, despite him wishing for it. Like, yeah, the wig and glasses were good misdirect, but really? **He** would have noticed the similarities with Bruce despite them, and those two were supposedly detectives…

"Stop being so formal, kid, "grumbled Jason, big hand making a mess of Tim’s styled hair. He would have complained, but… Jason’s voice and hand, okay? He was a weak teenager. Don’t judge him. "Know ya since y’were half that heigh, and lighter than my jacket."

Tim’s hormones ignored the comment on him being small, and focused on the mental image of the mentioned jacket, most likely leather and well worn. 

…This was _so_ not the time for fantasizing. 

A tiny, calloused hand slapped Jason’s away, which promptly changed the mood.

"Don’t touch my cousin, you/"

But Tim had prepared for this outcome, so his own hand rose just as quickly to cover Damian’s mouth.

At the word ‘cousin’, both heroes looked very interested. Tim was under no delusions, well aware Bruce and each of his adopted children had made their own background checks on him and his entire family, so they would know Damian’s claim to familiarity to be a lie, but they also couldn't really call them out on it without making it obvious they investigated him.

His head was already hurting for all the social maneuvering he had to do to keep out of trouble, and now, adding two concerned birds and one murderous kitten, it was even worse.

This was going to be a very, very long night. But both mom and Nicole had asked him, so he wouldn’t try to get out of being a (as) good (as possible) role model.

\----.----

\----.----

Tim winced, muscles locking in a poor attempt at not showing it. From the look Conner gave him, at the other side of the room where he was being chewed out by Lex, he failed miserably at hiding his pain; which, in turn, enraged his mom even more.

"What. Did. You. DO?!"

The hand not currently held by his mother went to his ear, protecting it from the almost demonic screech. He could see Auntie Nicole doing the same, sitting with Damian on the couch, sharing tea and cookies as they watched the whole show. The nine year old showed a surprising amount of sympathy towards Tim’s injuries, for someone who had been harshly trained since birth and had recently begun a career as vigilante (not that Tim was supposed to know about it, though). Or was it pity because of mom’s rage?

"You told me no tights and spandex! Never said anything about a mask and a hoodie, and Conner and the guys really needed my help with strategizing", he defended himself, because even if he shouldn't know about the waynes being heroes, he had been Conner’s friend since he found and subsequently freed him from Lex’s secret lab, which in turn warranted mom’s rule against heroing that he had just broke. "And don’t yell at me, I can hear you perfectly fine."

"I’M NOT YELLING!" she lied, tightening the bandage, scowl growing in power. "AND MASKS WERE IMPLIED AS A NO! Also, what are those if not thighs?"

"Skinny jeans!"

"They are indecent, that’s what they are!"

On the other side of the room, Kon seemed to be having a less exhausting time than Tim. Lucky bastard, Luthor had less experience in parenthood, hadn’t yet reached the Scolding Mastery level.

"Hey! Auntie Nicole dresses like that", he points to the woman, who raises an eyebrow, "and you don’t tell her anything! Look at her cleavage, you can almost see her bellybutton!"

"Leave me out of this", asked the woman, taking the teapot to refill Damian’s cup; he, in turn, handed her the cookies platter.

Ignoring her best friend, Janet snapped again. "NICOLE ISN’T MY _STUPID_ FOURTEEN YEAR OLD SON, WHO IS NEVER SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN!"

"What light of day? This is Gotham, we don’t have sunlight anyway. And I’m not stupid, my IQ is higher than everyone’s in this room."

"IT SURELY LOOKS LIKE YOU ARE FROM WHERE I’M STANDING, HERE, RE-BANDAGING YOUR ARM!"

Tim sighed, locking eyes with Conner in solidarity; or he wanted to, but the smug bastard’s scolding was over and he and Luthor had joined the Al Ghuls in their tea party.

"Come on, mom. This’ but a scratch."

"YOU GOT SEVEN STITCHES!!!! I can’t believe this."

She barely got her son out of vigilantism by monitoring his Wayne-Interaction and threats of boarding school and then he went and befriended a group of teen heroes and threw all her hard work straight to the trash. No, he skipped that part, he went directly to the dumpster and burried her good intentions under a pile of shit.

But really, she couldn’t very well make him entirely responsible of this, not when he got carried away by Conner’s ‘do the right thing’ speech. And Conner had came into their lives because of…

In blind rage, she finished her patch job on her son’s arm and turned ina flash to face Lex, whose face went quickly from amused to scared,

"WHY DID YOU THINK IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO HAVE A KID WITH SUPERMAN?"

Sensing she was done with him, Tim went to sit by Kon, who moved a bit on his individual couch so they could share it, though it was a very tight fit.

"Clone", he corrected helpfully, TTK bringing Tim his coffee cup closer.

"Did I stutter? And I wasn’t talking to you, was I?"

Nicole seemed like she was having the time of her life right now. "So hey, listen, between you and LITERAL SUPERMAN, who was the one on the receiving end when you pictured yourself having a kid with him? Like, who was getting it? Because, pal, odds aren’t in your favor, you know."

"Don’t be stupid, dear", huffed Janet, looking at her friend’s green eyes and calming don infinitesimally. "If he was actually getting it, he wouldn't have resorted to having his kid to get his attention."

"IT’S A CLONE, AND I ABSOLUTELY DIDN’T MAKE HIM TO GET THAT ALIEN’S ATTENTION! He’s my enemy, not my _lover, what is wrong with you people._ "

"Am I a divorce-preventing baby?" asked Kon to Tim, raising an eyebrow. The other kid just shrugged.

"Looks like it. Not like Uncle Lex had any other way to keep Superman from leaving him…"

"I’m right here."

"I know, Uncle Lex. I love you, but you need to rethink your choices. If the man wants to go, let him go. Kon doesn’t need any brothers. I can’t deal with more of him, one is more than enough."


	3. Teaching you, teaching me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four times mother and son learned from and about each other, and one time Tim used his knowledge for evil good.

**Animal**

When Jack died, it was sad but they were prepared. He’d been in a coma for two months by then, and Janet had practically been readying both herself and her son for the outcome. Tim had been sad, but it was more because of a possible future lost (he’d never given up the hope of his father changing one day, of Jack wanting to stay and being more present in his life), than genuine sorrow. Or so had the therapist told her.

Janet hadn’t felt bad, not really. Her relationship with her late husband had been cold long before his death, ruined by years of neglecting their son and being absent of their lives, but she suffered for her son, with his too big heart, who didn’t hesitate on wasting his tears on a father that never deserved them, the second she told him the news. 

Still, she held his hand through the entire funeral, surprised by the way he held his head on high. When he threw an arm over her shoulders to guide her away, after the service was over, she realized he was trying to be strong for her. The thirteen year old, heart breaking inside his small chest, was puffing it out to make himself seem bigger, more reliable, to comfort a mother that didn’t really need it.

Her beautiful, kind son.

Max’s death, a short two months after, was nothing like that.

The dog had been part of their household for nine, almost ten years now. Bought shortly after the circus tragedy, in a desperate attempt at soothing her son’s nightmares with the company of something fluffy and loveable, Max had grown up next to Tim, been there for any sad or happy moment, comforting him or sharing his joy by turns. The golden retriever had seem made specifically of love, giving all of it to the kid he’d been gifted to, and for that alone Janet had gone all out on his medical treatments, desperate to make him live as long as possible for a dog. 

Still, he was gone too soon, taking with him Tim’s smile and leaving ample space for tears. Tim had stayed by his side from the moment the veterinarian informed them of his chronic condition, to the tragic end of it, petting him softly and speaking in low, comforting tones.

Max’s last act before dying had been to lick Tim’s hand, the only thing he could reach from where he was lying on the dog bed, and wag his tail once. Even at death’s door, he’d showed Tim more love than his father ever had. Just for that, Janet would Max more than she did Jack.

It also baffled her, when Tim rejected her offer to bring home another dog a week after the small funeral they held in the backyard, softly closing the book on his lap to give her his full attention.

"You love getting new pets", she felt compelled to point out, because it felt like the obvious course of action.

"I do, but I also know why you are suggesting it now, and it won’t work. You can’t make me forget my sadness over losing Max by getting me a puppy, mom."

"It’ll fill the void", she insists. Almost desperately. 

(She can’t stand to hear her child cry by himself at night, his despair breaking her heart worse than anything else ever could)

"It won’t", he says, shifting in the window seat he always choose when deep in thought or in a contemplative mood. "I loved Max, not because he was a dog, but because he was Max. Even if you buy me a hundred puppies, I’ll love them because they’d be them. It won’t make me forget my pain over Max’s death."

She wanted to fight him on it, offer more, whatever it took to wipe the dim and far away look from his eyes, but he glanced up at her, so softly and fond, and she felt her tongue glueing itself to the top of her mouth. 

She thought, weirdly enough, of Wayne. Of how, when his first son went away, how he took another boy in. Despite loving Jason, he never stopped missing Dick. She thinks she understands, a little, where Tim was coming from.

(Tim would throw his book at her, if he knew she was comparing the Waynes to dogs, but, if the shoe fits…)

**Demonstration**

They say watching was the best form of learning, and Tim took it to heart. He analyzed people, going to work, hanging out with friends, buying groceries, fighting, laughing, crying… he saw, and he learned.

The one he watched the most was his mother, though.

How she smiled oh-so-politely at parties, how she ruthlessly destroyed the person speaking to her with short, well informed facts and dirty laundry. How she did both at the same time.

He went with her to DI, and took notice of the way her hips swayed with each step whenever she needed the room’s attention on her, or made her heels click extra hard against the porcelain floor when she wanted averted eyes.

She waved sweetly to her secretary, and frostily glared at the board member sitting three seats away from her.

She clenched her teeth during a phone call with someone she hated, but kept her voice perfectly smooth, warm even, as if speaking to an old friend.

He knew he would inherit the company one day. And, small as DI had been in the past, it had flourished under Janet Drake’s tender and constant care, blooming into the powerhouse it was today, on par with Wayne Enterprises. It was intimidating, to imagine all that power, all that responsibility, on his shoulders. 

Mother, Aunt Nicole, Uncle Lex, Uncle Bruce, Dick, Jay… they all said it, that Tim was too kind, too soft. He would give his hand to someone down without a thought, rather than see if they had a weapon first. Sweet, they called him, and made him blush, because he liked it. Liked that, to all that ruthless, sharp, for moments cruel people, he was a warm presence. A safe, comfortable place to lay worries to rest and smile. He liked being their sweet Timmy.

But he also despised it, because he was a gothamite, and this city ate sweet people whole for dessert, just after finishing with the foolish and naive ones that made for it’s lunch. There was no place for tender people, because that was the best kind to sink teeth into, and Gotham feeds on them. And he can’t die, because who is going to make sure mom and Nicole don’t go off the deep end? Who’s going to help Lex understand and bond with his son, with Conner? Who’s going to make sure the Waynes are getting along, when Alfred himself decides to leave them to their terrible life choices?

So he watches his mom, because she’s a prime example of someone not to be fucked with. Someone who is going to survive this wreck of a city until her drawn out, bitter end, and when that comes, she’ll go kicking and screaming and suing people to the ends of the earth. She doesn’t fear Gotham, and while sure as fuck Gotham doesn’t fear her either, it at least respects her. 

So he watches, and memorizes, and adapts behaviours and gestures into his own, tries to mimic the look in her eyes that send people flinching back and laughing nervously.

And, since he’s watching, he notices that she knows. How she’d look over her shoulder, straight into his eyes, as if saying ‘pay attention, I’m only showing you this once’ before she does something particularly tricky. Demonstrates her way of surviving, and lets him learn from it to make his own.

Tim, eleven years old, so tender and soft he’s like a warm, eatable bunny in everyone’s opinion, closes his eyes and breathes in, deeply. When he opens them, the icy blue of his gaze is enough to send the closest board member stumbling back and mumbling an apology (for what, who knows) before scurrying out of the room. 

Mom looks back to the rest of the board, but Tim knows (because he watches her all the time, he’s learned her to the smallest detail) that she’s smiling. 

She’s proud.

**Galaxy**

It’s late, and she feels sick and wants nothing more than to go to sleep. She’d basically lived at the office this last week, because of some stupid mistake Jack had made with the one piece of paperwork she needed him to sign (how he manages to screw up from all the way across the world, she can’t quite understand; it surely requires talent), and feels about ready to collapse on her bed.

But, because it’s been a while since she saw him, something in her gut tells her to go look for her son. Tim’s probably asleep right now, it’s almost four a.m, but if she’s silent enough, she could sneak a quick peek through the door, make sure he’s fine, and then go to bed completely unburdened.

Except, when she gets there, she’s treated to the sight of her son, her _eight year_ _old_ son, getting back into his room from **God knows** where by climbing through his window. Which, by the way, was located on the _**third floor**_.

Janet pressed a hand to her chest, as if to make sure her heart was still beating. It was, but the speed couldn’t be normal.

Was this a heart attack? 

Hidden by the shadows on the hallway, she noticed how he removed his tiny sneakers, that she had completely forgot he even owned, and thrusted them under the bed. They were worn out, full of grim, obviously used often for activities like _sneaking out at night and climbing the house._

Yes, she was having a heart attack. And an aneurysm. Simultaneously.

The camera around his neck, she did remember. The one gift he had asked for his last birthday, the only thing he ever begged her for. She hadn’t understand his passion for owning one, but since he never had looked so earnest (and wanting to make up for Jack missing the day) she conceded.

Was it a mistake? Watching the little boy making himself comfortable in his bed, going through the photos in the camera with the most delighted expression ever, she felt like ‘fuck yes’ wasn’t a strong enough answer.

Her first impulse, to jump inside the room and demand answers, was squashed down almost as soon as it hitted her. If she did, Tim would clam up and deny everything. Instead, she breathed in deeply and tapped her knuckles against the doorframe.

Tim almost jumped straight out of his skin, looking at her like a thief caught red handed. It’d be almost funny, if her heartbeat wasn’t still off the charts.

"Timothy, it’s quite late. Why are you awake at this hour? And with your camera?", she made a show of scanning his clothing, as if she wasn’t already aware of the jeans and hoodie. "Why aren’t you on your pajamas?"

She could almost hear him thinking, brilliant mind kicking into overdrive as her prodigious son searched for an answer that would satisfy his mother and keep him out of trouble. Shame no such answer existed.

"I… was outside, mama", he mumbled; calling her like that, amping up the cuteness, was almost overdoing it, but she supposed the situation called for big guns. "Taking pictures of the sky. I-I know it’s dark, and polluted, but I heard today was going to be extra-starry, and I thought maybe I could photograph the stars for you?"

He was good, she ought to give him that. But years too young to even try to lie to her.

"I see", she answers, calmly walking closer to him. Her face betrayed nothing, and she could see how that was getting into him by the way he was fondling with the camera, almost carelessly compared to his earlier reverent touch.

He flinched when she sat by his side.

"M-mom?"

"Well?", an arched eyebrow. "Aren’t you going to show me? You did something incredibly dangerous, climbing down your window- no, don’t even try to lie, I saw you climbing back in. Don’t think we won’t be talking about that in the morning. But you did something truly reckless, for those pictures for me. The least I can do is see them."

Quick, trembling hands fumbled a bit with the buttons. Janet was honestly surprised when he turned the camera around, showing actual sky pictures to her. She believed it a bluff. Maybe preventive measures, in case he got caught? She was sure he was lying, because even if they were sky pictures, it wasn’t a particularly nice view, all foggy and polluted Gotham landscape.

She also noticed (though pretended not to) how those angles weren’t ones he could achieve from their backyard, which upped her panic levels a few notches. Her baby had been alone, at night, away from home, in this shithole of a city.

"What a pity", she says, instead, giving back the camera, despite her burning desire to search for older pictures to get an idea of her son’s true activities, "those look like the usual sky. I would have loved to see the stars. Well, not your fault, this place is just ugly. Maybe we should move to Metropolis, I’m sure there are stars there."

"Mom…!"

"Hush, now, go to sleep. We are talking about sneaking out and bedtimes tomorrow, I’m too tired right now."

She could see his anxiety (at moving away? Why did he love this place so much?), but he must have realized he’d push his luck too far if he insisted, so he kissed her cheek and let her tuck him in. 

Despite her bone-deep tiredness, Janet couldn’t get a single second of shut eye at all. By six a.m and truly out of ideas, she picked up the phone. Too respectful of Nicole’s boundaries to bother her at that hour (or at least, not desperate enough; had the situation been a little more urgent, she wouldn’t have hesitated to drag her to the manor kicking and screaming), she called Lex.

At the fifth ring, her old friend’s voice answered. "I have a conference with the president in a few hours and need rest, this better be important."

"Please, your sleep schedule is even worse than mine. I need an opinion."

"And is Al Ghul unavailable? Why are you bothering me, when you two usually ignore my advice and go to each other?"

"Don’t be jealous, green isn’t your color. Lavender isn’t either, but well, I guess you can’t win all your battles…"

"Bold words for someone asking for help."

"Who said anything about help? I just need a new perspective. And I’m already regretting going to you for it."

"Well, I’m awake now, so might as well. Mercy", Luthor’s voice sounded a little muffled, probably covering the receiver while he addressed his bodyguard slash buttler, "I’ll be in the study, bring me coffee."

She gave him a few minutes, twirling one of her dark locks in her pointer finger. Laying in bed, unmade by all the tossing and turning she did for the last hours, she looked the picture of unrest. Luthor would laugh himself sick if he saw her now.

"Alright, I have coffee now. What happened?"

"I caught Tim coming back home after sneaking out last night. It looked like he did it before, multiple times; he had specific shoes for it that he hid, and even got some backup-plan photographs to make it look like he was just in the backyard photograpying the sky."

She heard the squeaking sound his chair made as he sat straighter, floored by her confession. 

"You should oil that chair. Is unbecoming for your image if it makes that kind of sounds everytime you move on it."

"Sorry, I can’t answer properly to the last part because I’m still reeling for the opening bit."

"Weak."

He ignored her (rude), muttering under his breath. "Tim what? No, he wouldn’t… well, he does have Janet’s genes, so maybe…"

"So", she cut him off, because if he kept that line of thinking, she would hang up and he still hadn’t given her any advice, "your thoughts?"

"Get a bodyguard on him 24-7 who’ll keep him from going out at nigh", he answered quick as a wip, not even needing to think it through. She huffed.

"If it were that easy, I wouldn’t need your opinion, you fool. This is my son we are talking about. Guilt and duty might keep him from going out, if I appeal to those, but brute force and shackles? He’s smart, smarter than you, maybe even than me. If he really wants to go, and finds no moral obstacles, he’ll find a way."

"So, do what you said, attack his conscience."

"I want to keep him safe, not emotionally destroy him."

"Forbid him from going? Like you said, he’s a dutiful son, and very well behaved."

"Which means he’ll make sure I think he’s obeying, but no guarantees he’ll actually do it. Think harder."

A few minutes went by, before the man sighed.

"You said it yourself, if he really wants to go, there’s little you can do, short of locking him up like a prince in a tower. Maybe speak to him, tell him your reasons to worry… and get him some martial arts teacher, to give him a fighting chance if he ends up disobeying anyway."

—-.—-

After speaking to Luthor and a quick call to Nicole for a favor (namely, get Lady Shiva to accept a work as a sensei for Tim), Janet slept for a solid nine hours. Eating, overseeing some papers and phoning her secretary to clean her schedule for the rest of the week, and she was ready to face her son after having dinner together. 

They sat on Tim’s bed, and she held his hand as she spoke to him. About how cold it was, how easy it was, before he was born. How life was do this, think about that, conquer here, throw something away there. Act, consequence, simple as that. Clinical as that.

It was different, she said, when he came to her life, to her arms. Because it was warm, and difficult, and so, so scary. She’d never been so afraid of the butterfly effect before. Now, consequences of a misstep could come to bite her in twenty years, a simple act now could make Tim despise her in the future.

“ _I’ve never been so afraid in my life_ ”, she told him, baring her soul for the first time in her life. “ _But I’ve also never been happier, and it’s all because of you._ ”

“ _I love you_ ”, she told him, giving her heart away for the first time in her life. “ _And I can’t lose you_.”

Those words were the hardest for her to say. She did it, anyway. Because he needed to hear them, and because they might be enough to keep him from pulling last night’s stunt again.

By the time she was done, Tim’s face was a mess of tears and snot. He hadn’t uttered a single word, holding onto her hand like a lifeline, but his smile was the brightest, prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

"I’ll be careful, Mom", he promised, between wrecked sobs. It had truly affected him, to hear her heart thoughts so bluntly. She ought to do this more often, if he treasured it so much. "I.. I won’t go out at night alone, not until I’m someone not even the Rogues can mess with. I promise", he looks at his bedside table, where the camera sits, and looks regretful but determined at the same time. She knows he means it. Whatever feeling he got from sneaking out to take pictures, it evidently wasn’t as strong as what he felt now, holding his mom’s hand and shaking from such strong emotions.

"Thank you", she breathed in deeply, relaxing for the first time since the night before, letting go of his hand to hug his shoulders, pressing him into her side.

After a few seconds of silence, he weaseled out of her hold, raising a hand to halt her when she tried to follow his example and get up. "Stay there a minute, Mom, I have something to show you."

With that, he sprinted to the light switch, and turned them off. But a slight, greenish glow remained in the room, and then she noticed the glow in the dark stars sticking to the ceiling.

There were… a lot of them.

Tim came back and sat once again next to her, hand quickly snatching hers.

"You said… you said you wanted to see the stars, so I made you a little galaxy. Whenever you want to see them, you can come here… You’ll also know, that way, that I’m here and not sneaking out."

Thanking people wasn’t something Janet did often. But she had said ‘I love you’ today, and that one was a first, so this wasn’t too far fetched for her.

"Thank you, Tim."

**Feedback**

A week after showing his mother his multiple closets full of disguises and aliases’ clothing, he was called into her office. 

He had expected some questions, maybe even feedback or advice in how to perfect his portrayal of other people.

He hadn’t expected this.

"..and I know I’m not as… adapted to the ever changing times as younger people like you. Me, Lex, sometimes Nicole, we are too set on our ways, but."

She cleared her throat. Tim still wasn’t sure he wasn’t having some kind of fever dream.

"But. It’s important for you to know that I… I won’t ever judge you for something you are. I might judge your actions, like when you accept Todd’s offers for a ride downtown, or Grayson’s requests for a dance, or when you are too dumb/ kind, too kind, towards other people… But I’ll never judge you for something you didn’t choose. Like this."

In the midst of this confusing speech, Tim still couldn’t quiet comprehend why mom was gesturing towards the shoes on the desk. They were simple, red heels, not even that high, belongings of Caroline Hill, one of his more successful aliases. It was a wonder how people on the Alley’s clinic hadn’t catched on that their favorite voluntary nurse slash doctor in training was a fifteen year old kid instead of the nineteen year old shy girl they thought, but it was an ego boost when they called him Miss Hill, and a boost to his medical skills when they taught him something new.

"I understand this is an…" a quick glance to the papers in her desk. Had mom… wrote this down beforehand? What…? "age of changes, yes, an age of changes for you. And you are… discovering- no, learning yourself. And I’m honored that you trusted me enough to show me that, and came to me in this… confusing times."

Tim opened his mouth to speak. Mom seemed to panic, as much as mom ever did anyways, quickly sorting through her sheets of… Information? Pointers?

"Not that I think you are confused! I trust that you know yourself the best, and I trust whatever you say to me are your honest feelings on the matter."

"I… I _am_ confused -he managed to blurt out."

Mom winced, and searched among her papers some more. When she seemed to find whatever it was, she pulled it above the others, gave it a quick glance, and kept going. "It’s okay if you don’t know it yet, too. There’s more than just… male or female. According to my research, there’s a ‘neither’, ‘both’ and ‘sometimes one, sometimes the other’ option."

Janet seemed lost at her own words. Tim could relate. He wasn’t even sure they were talking about his aliases anymore.

"What I mean to say is", she breathed in deeply, letting the papers fall to the desk and meeting his eyes head on, "I love you. You are my son, daughter, neither, both, whatever you feel, but still _mine_. My child, and nothing you do about your… identity or sexuality can change that. I’ll always accept you, as you are. And if anyone ever gives you trouble about it, you can always come to me and I’ll set their minds straight, or remove them from the picture."

Tim felt fondness surging in his chest, even as his mind came to an abrupt halt when he finally understood what this was all about.

"You might have to be patient with me, or explain some concepts, as I learn about this, because its all new information to me. But I promise you I’ll always love you no matter what, and I’m willing and ready to do my best to/"

"Mom", he finally choked up, torn between embarrassment and profound love, "I’m not… I’m a boy. I really, really appreciate all this, but you don’t need to… I mean, the shoes and clothes? It’s because I’m making aliases, so I can learn different things and meet people without it being traced back to me. Like, tools. Caroline Hill, the shoes owner, for example, is a tool to learn about medicine, and practice the way of women in case I ever need to disguise myself as one. Not… not actual representations of Tim Drake."

There was a minute of silence.

"Well, this is… unexpected."

"But", he continued, cheeks warm but hurting from smiling so hard, "you are the best mom ever, and this learning you are doing? It’s great, even if not applicable to me, because it… it’s good, for people to understand and accept other people like that. It makes you a better person, and I’m really proud of you."

He got up from his seat and walked around the desk, sitting in the floor by his mom’s chair like he did when he was a toddler, and rested his head in her lap, hugging her legs, eyes going to hers with wonder and happiness. She seemed utterly relieved, both at not having fucked up their chat, and at him not being mad at the misunderstanding.

"Aliases, huh. I can help with that. We can talk about it over dinner, and I’ll give you some suggestions."

"Thanks, mom. And, hum, since you brought up the whole gender and sexuality stuff… this might be a good moment to let you know I’m bi."

Long, sharp nails scratched his scalp softly, his eyes closing almost on instinct. Her laugh ringed in his ears.

"It doesn’t matter to me, Timothy. Boy, girl… whoever you bring home, I’ll…"

He smiled, expectant.

"… never accept them. No one, no matter their genders, is good enough for my son."

Ah, there she was, the mother he knew and loved.

**Movie**

Tim, sitting in his study, didn’t even raise his eyes from the paperwork mom had assigned him (to help make him accustomed to dealing with it for when he’ll have a more central role in DI) when the door opened and closed with a bang. He continued signing contracts with one hand, while the other patted his desk for his phone, shooting a quick text to the butler without looking.

"Can you believe it?" his intruder clamored, walking back and forth in front of Tim’s desk, hands messing through long locks of black hair.

"No", he replied, eyes still not leaving his work, "It’s amazing, how the stock market dropped on Wayne Enterprises. What is Bruce thinking, with the neon knights? He can’t do that and then go gallivanting around the world alone again, the stockholders won’t stand for such a big inversion without the logical follow up. I need to phone Damian about this, maybe he can ask his brothers to pose as Bruce and/"

"I’m not talking about your precious Waynes!"

"I know," he replied, hand finishing the last stroke of his signature, raising his eyes to his godmother just as the door opened and the butler brought a tea (and coffee) set, placing it by the little table in the corner of the study, "but I needed a few minutes to finish this before paying attention to you, Aunt. Now, a cup of tea? I’ll be having coffee, but it might not be the best for your frayed nerves."

"My nerves aren’t frayed, you little brat. Show some respect. Where is my cute little angel of a godson? "she complained, sitting as elegantly as ever in the plus couch by the little table. Tim sat opposite her."

"He hasn’t slept in three days" and is being asked to meddle into adult’s problems, but he didn’t voice that part, merely mixing ingredients in the steaming cup, "It’s natural to be bitter. Now, tea?"

She didn’t answer, but accepted the offered drink, already prepared to her tastes perfectly. Despite her anger, she smiled. Two sugars, no milk, a little lemon, the smallest hint of vodka. Her godson knew her so well.

A few seconds went by as Tim readied his own coffee and downed half. The butler topped the cup for him, and then left just as quietly as he had came.

"Now, want to tell me what has you so mad?"

He already knew, but playing innocent was one of his strengths. Bruce still blamed Dick for the incident on the music room of the manor, despite the fact that Tim had been there at the moment and his eldest far away on a secret mission civilian Tim wasn’t supposed to know about. That was the true power of a goodie two shoes.

"Your mother, she… You know we were planning on going to the movies today, and she…!"

"Ah..." he nodded, as if only catching up then. "She went with Dana, right?"

Nicole gritted her teeth, downing her cup in one long glup to calm herself. Tim merely took the teapot and filled it again.

"Janet doesn’t even like the movies! She hates being around other people. The only reason she goes is to humor me, and now… That woman…"

"Dana is a good person", he intervened, because he genuinely liked her. Dana Winters had been in charge of taking care of his comatose dad until his death, and they had spent some time together during his visits to Jack. A lot of his alias Caroline Hill had been based on her. And right now, she…

"Too good", Nicole muttered, which Tim suspects, was the root of the problem.

"Shouldn’t you be glad? "he asked, head tilted in his best show of naivety. "That mom is trying to get someone kind to be by her side? Dad wasn’t… dad wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t as nice to mom as he could have been. I, for one, want her to be happy."

"Janet doesn’t _do_ nice."

It took everything in him to not answer ‘well, she _might_ tonight’, because that would ruin his innocent image, and he was afraid Nicole might actually stab Dana. Really, refraining himself like that was almost painful. Mom better appreciate his sacrifice.

"The nicest thing she could ever stand was you", she continued, ignorant to her godson’s internal struggle, "and you are her baby."

"I’m fifteen", he felt compelled to inform her, but was promptly shushed.

"To us, you never grew past your chubby stage."

"I _didn’t_ have a chubby stage, and you can’t prove otherwise". He’d know. He was the one who got rid of the evidence.

"Back to the point… Dana is no good fit for your mom. She’d end up tearing off her own hair in frustration in less than a month after countless discussions of morality and ‘doing the right thing’. She can barely resist when it’s you doing the nagging and, again, you are the exception to all of Janet’s rules."

Tim hummed, thinking distractedly how someone as smart as Nicole couldn’t see that Dana’s good heart wasn’t the problem here. Oh well, he needed to be a little more direct.

"And who do you think would be a good match for mom? Someone distant, like dad? Or easily manipulated?"

A growling almost came out of Nicole’s mouth. Tim refilled his coffee cup again.

"Neither… those make for good tools, but not partners. Janet needs someone who understands her, who couldn’t judge, who likes her as rotten and twisted as she is."

Should he protest? This was his mother they were talking about. Not that she was wrong, but… still.

Deciding against it, because he needed to get back to work and this conversation was already exhausting, he nodded. "Mm, but plenty of people in high society adore her… "

"Those fools either don’t know of her true nature, or are too scared of it. None would make for a good life companion."

"So, someone who isn’t scared of her, knows her inside out, isn’t morally upright…"

"They should also have similar objectives in life", Nicole interjected, empty cup clattering against the plater when she placed it there, "otherwise Janet might feel the need to remove them to keep them off her way."

"Objectives, like…?"

"Staying on top of the food chain of the corporate world, for example. And keeping loved ones safe. Like you, for her."

' _And Damian, for you'_ , he didn’t say. Finally, they seemed to be reaching the end of the discussion. Just a few more lines…

"And they should be strong", she kept on, digging her own grave for Tim’s convenience, "because Janet is, too, which means her enemies are as well, and she needs someone to have her back if she ever needs it."

"I don’t think", he wondered, finger tapping his chin in childlike confusion, "that such a person exists. Someone as morally compromised as mom, strong enough to help her achieve her objectives, who knows her and loves her. I never met someone like that… I mean, besides you."

Time seemed to stop for Nicole, who dropped the scon she had halfway through her mouth. Tim knew what having a romantic realization felt like, so he let her deal with it while he finished his coffee. After a few minutes letting her stew, he forced a look of curiosity and concern on his face.

"Aunt Nicole? Are you alright? You went really quiet…"

Nicole wasn’t sitting in front of him any longer. Okay, he’ll forgive the rudeness, in the spirit of love and all that. Picking up his phone, he sent Dana a quick text, warning her to make herself scarce.

“ _Everything going according to plan on my end_ ”

“ **Ah, okay. I’ll thank Janet for accompanying me, and ask her to just be friends. Then I’ll catch a taxi :)** “

“ _Yeah, let me know once you are back on your house, it’s getting pretty late_ ”

“ **Aw, you’re such a gentleman. Me and your mom spent all afternoon talking about you, you know. And Nicole** ”

“ _You buttered her up to the idea?_ ”

“ **She seemed to be considering ending this ‘date’ early as well to go looking for her, so I’m guessing I did ;)** “

“ _Thank you again, Dana_ “

**“Make sure they invite me to the wedding, and we’re even!”**

**“If they don’t elope, that’s** **it** ”

“T _hey won’t. That would mean missing the chance to make Uncle Lex miserable by asking him to plan the whole ceremony”_

Smiling despite himself, he put his coffee cup down and went back to his desk. Better to get work out of the way before Mom and Nicole came back and informed him of the good news. 

Shocked face number three might do.


	4. The gala, left and hover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janet Drake...
> 
> …and the time her son went to a Gala for her. But because it’s Gotham, of course all went to shit.  
> Or, Tim always begged for a little brother. Then he got Damian, and now he’s sorry he even asked.
> 
> ...and the two examples on why Tim needs better friends.

**The Gala**

All things concerned, the night wasn’t going so bad. Granted, he was taking cover behind a turned table to avoid getting shot, desperately clutching Damian’s hand because the kid seemed ready to jump over it and take a swing at the enemy, but… well. He could think of worse scenarios.

For one, Batman could be in town. Sure, it’d be better, in this circumstances, to have the Dark Knight crashing through the crystal roof to put and end to -a quick glance over the table- Two Face’s scheme of the night, but hey, bright side, he didn’t need to worry about Damian and his father meeting yet.

Also, Dick and Jason could be here, caught in the crossfire with all the other party attendants. As it was, Tim was fairly sure they’d be showing up soon, in a completely different suit, and since the whole ball room was now decorated with bullet holes, the party would have to be cut short. Score. 

Also, mom would freak out once she heard Tim had been caught in the middle of a shooting on the one party she asked him to go to in her place, and thus would never ask him to endure this torture again. 

On the flip side… Damian was no longer holding his hand. 

He jumped over the table without a second thought, cursing the kid under his breath, totally exposed to projectiles but desperately needing to make eye contact with the brat, even if just to murder him with his glare before dying.

As expected, Damian was sneakily making his way closer to Two Face’s goons, who were speaking about some new law the mayor was planning to make, and how half the attendants were possible votants on it passing or not… or some bullshit like that. Tim couldn't focus on them now, okay, he had a very dangerous, very stupid pre teen to capture and drag back to safety, assassin trained or not.

Of course, that was the moment another Rouge choose to make her appearance. What the hell was Poison Ivy doing here? 

A little to his left, he watched a businessman, Mr Withyork shrinking into himself, trying to look as small and unnoticeable as possible. Wasn’t this the dude planning to build a mall on a wasteland a little south to Diamond District? Since wildlife had flourished there, it was no wonder Ivy had some opinions on the matter. Also, if Tim remembered right, this particular man was one of the confirmed votants that would reject the law passing, which went along with Two Face’s preferences.

For a full minute, the goons and the plant lady just looked at each other, completely stumped. It wasn’t often that one Rouge’s scheme clashed with another: the same man they had to protect, she intended to kill.

L ooking at the half cooked goons, and then at the majestic plant goddess, Tim had a hunch on who’d win if they ended up crossing blades. 

And Damian was still inching closer to the criminals.

Fuck it all to hell.

"Emm, Doctor Isley!"

The entire room went dead silent. Damian, directly behind one of the goons, dropped the knife he had managed to smuggle in despite Tim’s careful check before leaving the manor. He was staring at Tim like one would a bunny who jumped directly between wolves fighting for territory, offering itself as a snack for the ravaging beasts. 

It… wasn’t so far away from reality. But it was all his fault for making Tim take action to keep him safe, and he told him so with a glare before returning it to Poison Ivy, the obvious prime predator in the room.

Well, he already started…

"If you’d allow me, Doctor, I might speed this thing for you, no need for you to dirty your…", he looked at the vines, slowly and steadily making their way to Mr Withyork ,"babies."

Ivy raised an eyebrow, casually swinging her hips as she made her way to where he was standing, on the middle of the empty dance room, holding himself tight to avoid the disgrace of shaking. Men and women watched from behind their covers, some gasping at the inevitable slaughter they were about to see, but not moving a finger to help him. The only one looking kinda relieved was Mr Withyork, since Ivy’s vines left their path towards him to tangle around Tim’s ankles. It didn’t hurt, but it was a clear warning: don’t run.

He did his best to keep his eyes on her, despite the fear icing his veins. Looking somewhere between her mouth and eyes, not daring to let his gaze rest on either for long, and absolutely refusing to allow them to wander even lower; that was a death sentence waiting to be signed.

She hummed appreciatively, stopping just in front of him. Tim could barely make out Damian’s silhouette in the background, stealthily taking the weapons on the goons slacked hands. Everyone’s gazes seemed to be on Tim and the ruthless criminal he was currently trying to persuade. 

"So polite", she noticed, tilting her head and twisting her body slightly, the new posture making her chest area more prominent. Tim kept his gaze firmly above the chin. She smiled, and if he were a smaller (dumber) kid, he’d think her charmed, "and a gentleman, too. What are you, eleven? Ten?"

He swallowed, hard.

"Thirteen, Doctor. I’m small for my age, I’m told."

She made the little humming sound again, eyes scanning him up and down.

"Well then, I’m waiting. You said there was a way for this to end peacefully. I don’t mind the other way, but for a little thing like you to speak up… You deserve to be heard, at least."

Tim stood straighter, breathing deeply. His head wasn’t already rolling, so it was a good sign, right? She seemed amused by him, at least.

"Drake… Drake Industries is looking into real estate, to build a green area. To… to help against pollution. It’s, ah, a charity I talked my mother into creating… Mr Withyork’s wasteland would be perfect for this endeavour. Would that be okay with you? I can assure you, on my life, that we’ll make sure to protect any and all wildlife within those bounds, and…"

He started to stammer when Ivy’s face came closer to his, examining him silently. 

"I could just kill anyone who tries to build something there", she purred, "no need for you to worry your pretty little head over it, child."

He swallowed again.

"But… but then your plants… they’d be stained with blood and body parts…" he tried, nervously looking behind her. Damian was slowly inching closer to him, apparently done with taking the unsuspecting thug’s firearms.

"Good fertilizer", she shrugged, unbothered, but still too damn close. She seemed to find amusing Tim’s desperate attempts at looking anywhere but her chest, which she had purposely put directly on his field of vision.

"But… Damian!" he shouted abruptly, noticing how said brat was now just behind Ivy and brandishing a dagger. Quick as a whip, he reached past her, took Damian’s arm in his and dragged him behind his own back, using all the training he received from Nicole’s friend, Shiva, to smoothly disarm Damian and hide his weapon on his own coat, without Ivy noticing it. Good thing she was so close, then, since her own vision field was thus reduced.

At Ivy’s arched eyebrow, he quickly changed tracks. Turning and hugging Damian’s head tightly against his chest (to keep him from speaking), he raised his eyes to the criminal with his best cow eyes, the ones that more often than not got his mother to surrender.

"Damian, my cousin… he’s… he’s so young, Doctor Isley. Please, I just… I want to keep him from seeing something like that for as long as I can."

Said innocent lamb started to furiously fight against Tim’s hold, undoubtedly with something to say to that. Tim bent his head closer to him, whispering into his ear.

"Stay still and keep quiet, or I swear to whatever God you answer to that I’ll leave you to fend for yourself against my mom once this is all over with."

Damian froze. Tim looked at Ivy again, one hand carefully stroking Damian’s hair, eyes widened with surrow.

The woman clinically analyzing them seemed to rethink her opinion on Tim, head tilted in confusion. A spark of warmth lightened her eyes like a poisonous flower.

"You are a brave little seed, speaking up like that for him", Ivy mused, eyes twirling. She gave him a smile. "Fine. I’ll allow that scum to live today, as long as he sells the property to you, and you give it the promised use. If I find out you are lying…"

"I’m not", he blurted out, letting Damian go but taking his hand hostage, making sure to keep his grip irontight. The little shit better not run away again; Tim doesn’t think he can face off against another criminal today. "Thank you so much, Doctor Isley."

Ivy grinned, a little charmed despite herself, and looked over her shoulder to Two Face’s thugs.

"I’m done here. Tell your waste of space boss to not meddle in my business again, or else."

‘They never did’, Tim refrained to say. The moment she stepped into the room, they had put a halt to their actions, and even before that, it’s not like they were there to specifically target her. But still, mom didn’t raise no dummy, so he kept his mouth shut, head bowed to the Rouge.

He startled, taken by surprise when he felt her hand reaching behind his ear. Damian made an aborted motion to shove her away, and Tim was quick to hid it by twisting his body in front of his, acting as if he were looking at his reflection on the window by their right. He could hear Damian growling at his back, but better pissed than dead.

There was a flower, on his hair. Pretty big, blue with some grey splashes, and a touch of golden pollen. The contrast against his dark hair was startling, but it did look good with his eyes. Briefly, he wondered if it was poisonous, and just how pathetic it’d be to die because of a flower.

"There, little seedling. If you ever want to venture into my domains, that should assure none of my babies eat you before you can reach me", and with that she stepped away, letting her plants take her through the broken window she had entered by.

He had survived. Miracles of miracles. And judging by the shadows he could see about to break through the crystal roof, Nightwing and Robin were here already, so the thugs (disarmed by Damian, not that they were aware of the fact yet) were mostly done for.

This was as good a moment as any to faint, he guessed.

Everything went black, the last thing he heard being Damian’s scared shout. Even unconscious, he never let go of the little shit’s hand.

**Left**

When Tim said he was going to help them out this… wasn’t what Kon had expected.

"LEFT, TURN LEFT!!!", yelled the boy, sitting on his shoulders, hands gripping hair like reins.

"Stop pulling at my hair!", he yelled back, obeying because… not because Tim told him so, okay? He just felt like going that way was the smartest move. Nothing to do with his friend.

"I wouldn’t need to, if you could fucking keep your eyes on the road-sky-whatever and avoid the flying debris of  _ death _ !"

"And what if I don't dodge? I’m made of steel!"

"And I’m made of very breakable skin and bones, and your passenger!"

"You can’t possibly be that frail", he couldn't, right? Kon wasn’t the most knowledgeable about human physiology, but… "You’re too willful and I once saw you back talking your mom: death clearly doesn't scare you."

"I can and I am! The only thing powering my body up every day and making me leave bed is my burning spite at the world at large! LEFT AGAIN, LEFT AGAIN!!"

"I’m going, I’m going! Stop with the hair thing!"

"Weren’t you just gloating about a body of steel? And you’re telling me pulling your hair hurts you?"

"It’s totally not the same! It’s like, people who prefer a broken leg over a paper cut!"

"...Conner, no one thinks that. Where did you even hear it?"

"I… read it in a ‘humans are space orcs’ post."

"...I’m… not gonna address that. Can you fly me closer to that flying pod thingie over there?"

"I can, but why would you want that? Don’t you see that’s where all this flying shit is coming from?"

"That’s exactly why I need to be there, so I can stop it. Wasn’t that the reason you asked me to come? To help you guys end this stupid mission? Even though you know my mother is going to murder me the second I’m back, and probably lock me up in my room forever?"

"...I also wanted to hang out."

"..."

"FUCK, WITH THE HAIR THING! What, left again?"

"No, that one just now was for the joy of it."

**Hover**

Tim knew he was hovering, all right? He wasn’t stupid. But this project was his baby, his firstborn, the Athenea that came out of his mind and instantly became a prefered child.

And this idiot could very well kill his baby. He thinks he's entitled to some hovering, after all. Were he his mom, well… she had done a lot worse to people only sneezing in his direction, let alone threatening injury.

_ ("Isn’t it weird that you’re talking about a project like its a living, breathing thing?" had asked Tam after the eleventh time she had patiently listened to him rant about his baby, and the D&I worker in charge of it. _

_ "And that’s why Steph is gonna be the godmother instead of you", he sneered at her, eyes as dangerous as he could stand to look at her with. _

_ "You’re too pretty for someone so petty.") _

"Mr Drake", the D&I worker spoke, tiredness seeping into his tone, just a bit impertinent; nothing like the scared, overly respectful man he was when he was assigned to work under his sixteen year old temporal boss, "I have this under control. The programming is almost done, we have put every safeguard we could think of around it so no one can hack us and steal it, and the deadline is weeks away. Nothing short of an earthquake or a fire destroying this lab could put a damp in the project’s development."

"Stop saying that stuff, you are going to jinx us", Tim berated, hands still gripping the worker’s backrest as he sat in front of the computer, finger stilling as he spoke to the famed heir of DI, "and this is Gotham, anything could go wrong."

The man sighed, hand rubbing at his forehead. He was obviously tired, working under Tim’s direct orders nothing short of a dictatorship, but he had offered, and would get his fair due of prestige one this baby was ready for showtime, so Tim felt no sympathy. He too hadn’t been getting a healthy amount of sleep, and he wasn’t bitching about it.

When the worker, Francis, looked over his shoulder to better gauge Tim’s mood, he made sure to show him his angelic smile number three, the one that gave an ‘innocently nervous about being in power, but determined and full of will’ vibe. It succeeded in making the worker smile a little, as if rejuvenated by the sheer cuteness. 

(" _ You are too baby faced, for such a bitter jerk", had noted once Steph, "It deceives the untrained eye." _

_ "People trust me with their lives", nods Tim, because he’s one hundred percent aware of that fact; he relishes in it, actually, "and they really shouldn’t. If nothing else, they should remember I’m my mother’s son _ .")

"Just go home, Mr Drake", Francis sighed again, looking back at his screen, fingers restarting the lightning quick typing, "I promise I’ll make sure everything is as it should be before heading out myself. I just…"

_...want to finish this part without your annoying hovering _ , Tim knew he wanted  to say. 

"...I just don’t wish to keep you up even longer. Mrs Drake would have my head", he finished lamely. Using the fear his mom instilled in the human race at large as an excuse was an old trick, but he couldn't deny its effectiveness.

"All right, all right. I’ll go. But you as well, make sure you won’t be staying here long. I wouldn't want you to…"

_... fuck something up, being tired and without supervision _ , he had to refrain himself from saying.

"...get sick out of exhaustion", he went with.

There was relief in Francis’ face, but Tim knew better than to point it out.

"Then, I’ll be going. Just, repeat after me one more time: I won’t/"

"I won’t forget to save my progress, change the password protecting the file  _ again _ , make a backup copy just in case and check the fire alarm is working properly before leaving", ended up the other man, already used to Tim’s checklist, face already brightening at the prospect of a few hours of peaceful work. "Got you covered, boss. Have a nice evening!"

Feeling like he was being kicked out of his own office, Tim laughed a little under his breath, walking towards the elevator, taking his phone out of his pocket as he went. By the time he reached the company’s car waiting for him by the front entrance, he had already hacked his way into Francis’ computer, carefully keeping track as the man went back to work.

(" _ Y’er a control freak, ain’t ya? You lil bastard", she complained, even as she put her guns back on their holsters and picked him up like a toddler, dodging bullets all the while. _

_ Tim snorted, pliant in her arms as she took him away from danger, following Ra’s orders of protecting Tim. "Eloquent as ever, Pru." _

_ "Shut yer mouth, princess. It’s too nice for the shit that comes out of it." _ )

(In retrospective, the women he decided to surround himself with weren’t very nice with him. He needed better friends.)


End file.
